With a snap of Erik's fingers, Helrath materialized from a swirl of dark energy, his skeletal form now more imposing than ever. His bones, once a dull and decayed black, gleamed in the dim light as though forged from shadow itself.
The spectral flame burning within his hollow eye sockets roared with renewed intensity, casting flickering light across his sharpened features. The large shield Helrath once carried was nowhere to be seen; now, only a massive two-handed sword rested on his back, its length nearly matching his towering frame.
As soon as he appeared, Helrath dropped to one knee before Erik in a display of unwavering loyalty. Erik observed the silent figure for a moment, one eyebrow arching in mild surprise.
"I see you ditched the shield," Erik muttered with a faint chuckle. "How come?"
Helrath remained motionless, the hollow void of his eyes fixated on the ground. There was no response, no sign that Helrath had processed Erik's words beyond the act of kneeling. Erik sighed and shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"Oh well," he muttered, "I guess I overestimated your capacity for learning."
With a flick of his wrist, Erik gestured toward the cave entrance, where faint torchlight flickered from within. The wooden door rattled faintly in the evening wind, the muffled voices of bandits heard from inside.
"Stand up and get in there," Erik commanded, his tone casual but with a sharp edge. "Show me if you've made any improvements in your swordsmanship."
Helrath rose instantly, his towering frame straightening as he gripped the hilt of his enormous sword. Without a word, the skeleton turned and made his way toward the cave entrance, his steps unnaturally quiet despite the heavy armor that adorned him.
Geri trotted at Erik's side as they followed behind Helrath, taking on the role of spectators. The corgi's ears perked up, clearly sensing the impending violence as his small paws padded eagerly along the rocky path.
Erik, hands clasped behind his back, hummed a quiet tune under his breath, more curious than anything about how Helrath would handle this test.
The cave was small, consisting of only two chambers connected by a narrow passage. In the first chamber, three bandits sat around a fire, laughing and sharing stories of their past misdeeds, unaware of the silent storm approaching.
Beyond them, deeper in the cave, the bandit leader rested on a crude throne of stone, his figure barely visible from the main chamber.
Helrath did not hesitate. The moment he stepped into the flickering light of the chamber, his sword gleamed with a cold, lethal intent. One of the bandits, noticing the movement, scrambled to his feet, drawing a rusty iron sword.
"What the—?"
His words were cut short as Helrath's blade moved with terrifying speed. The first bandit's sword never even left its scabbard before Helrath's greatsword cleaved through his torso with surgical precision.
The skeleton moved with fluidity and grace, a stark contrast to the raw, basic swordsmanship he had displayed during the fight with Movarth. Every swing was calculated, deliberate, and seemingly the product of countless battles.
The remaining two bandits barely had time to react before Helrath was upon them. One swung a war axe in a desperate arc, but Helrath deflected it with a flick of his wrist, sending the axe flying across the room.
The bandit barely had time to register his loss of weapon before Helrath's sword plunged into his chest, piercing through his leather armor as though it were paper. With a swift motion, Helrath kicked the corpse off his blade, spinning around just in time to face the last bandit.
This one was more cautious, circling Helrath with a pair of daggers in hand, his movements jittery and unpredictable. But Helrath didn't falter. With a single step forward, he brought his greatsword down in a vertical slash, forcing the bandit to dodge.
The bandit darted to Helrath's side, attempting to exploit a supposed opening, but Helrath anticipated the move. His sword reversed direction mid-swing, sweeping in a wide arc and cutting across the bandit's chest, sending him crumpling to the floor in a pool of blood.
Erik watched from the shadows of the cave's entrance, his expression one of mild amusement. Helrath's improvement was undeniable. Where before he had fought like a mere brute, now his technique showed a level of sophistication that hadn't been there during the battle with Movarth.
Every swing, every block, every calculated strike spoke of a deeper understanding of swordsmanship—a warrior who had honed his craft through endless practice.
The fight hadn't lasted long, but it was clear that Helrath was no longer the mere skeleton warrior Erik had summoned in the past. He was something more, something far deadlier.
The sound of footsteps echoed from deeper within the cave as the bandit leader emerged from the second chamber, alerted by the commotion. He was a burly Nord, heavily armored with a steel greatsword resting on his shoulder. His eyes widened in shock at the sight of the fallen bandits and the towering figure of Helrath standing amidst the carnage.
"You... you bastard!" the leader roared, charging forward with his sword raised high.
Helrath met him head-on. The bandit leader's first strike was powerful, the kind of swing meant to split a man in two. But Helrath caught the blow with his own sword, the two blades clashing with a deafening ring of steel.
For a moment, they stood locked in a battle of strength, but it quickly became clear who held the upper hand. With a single twist of his blade, Helrath sent the bandit leader's sword skittering across the stone floor.
The leader's eyes widened in terror as Helrath's sword came down with brutal efficiency, severing his head from his shoulders in one swift motion.
Silence fell over the cave once more.
Helrath, his task complete, retrieved the bandit leader's sword from the ground and turned back toward Erik, kneeling once more as he presented the blade as an offering.
Erik circled Helrath, feeling the thick, palpable hum of magicka radiating off his charred, blackened bones. The air around the skeletal warrior shimmered with energy, dark and ancient, making the hair on Erik's arms stand on end. He smirked, folding his arms behind his back as he walked, the light clinking of his boots echoing in the now quiet cave.
"You've certainly improved your swordsmanship," Erik mused, his tone half compliment, half expectation. He stopped in front of Helrath, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "But… that shouldn't be all you're capable of now, is it?"
Helrath remained as still as a statue, his massive sword resting against the stone floor. For a moment, it seemed as though he hadn't heard Erik at all. But then, above the skeleton's head, a purple magic circle flickered into existence, casting a ghostly glow over the cave walls.
The sigils within the circle twisted and pulsed, humming with eerie power as spectral chains began to materialize from its center, glowing faintly with otherworldly light. The chains shot out like snakes, latching onto the corpses of the fallen bandits scattered across the floor.
Erik's eyes widened slightly as the bodies began to stir with groans and creaking joints, the sound of death clawing back to life. One by one, the corpses rose unsteadily to their feet, their movements slow and jerky, eyes clouded with the dull fog of undeath.
The smell of decay and blood filled the air as the reanimated bandits shuffled forward, coming to a halt behind Helrath and kneeling in a grotesque parody of servitude.
"Mass Reanimate..." Erik murmured, his voice tinged with surprise. It was a powerful spell, one even he could not use—not since his soul had been fractured, leaving his mana reserves crippled and unable to fuel such high-level magic. The spell alone was a feat, but what stunned him more was the fact that Helrath had done it, without command, with such effortless precision.
Before Erik could fully process the implications of what had just transpired, a low, rough sound broke through his thoughts, echoing in the cave like the grinding of stone on stone.
"Fa...ther..."
Erik's eyes snapped back to Helrath, his expression freezing in place. The sound hadn't come from the cave's walls or some unseen corner—it had come from Helrath himself. The once mute skeleton now stood, head tilted slightly as the ethereal fire in his eyes flickered, his jaws creaking open once more.
"Ser...vants... for... fath...er," the voice rasped. It was rough, gravelly, as though pulled from the depths of the void, and yet there was a strange resonance to it—a hollow, ancient echo that made the words even more unsettling.
For a long moment, Erik simply stared, his lips twitching into an amused smile. He couldn't help it—the absurdity, the audacity of this creature calling him 'father' of all things. And yet, in a twisted way, it made sense. After all, Erik had created Helrath, shaped him, raised him from mere bones into the formidable force that stood before him now.
Erik chuckled, his breath misting in the cold air. "Father, huh? I suppose I did bring you into this world."
He walked over to one of the reanimated corpses, nudging it with the toe of his boot. The bandit, now an empty husk of his former self, swayed slightly but remained kneeling, awaiting further command. Erik wrinkled his nose in mild distaste.
"Though I have to say," he continued, shaking his head, "these zombies aren't exactly useful for much. Slow, clumsy... but I suppose they can make for decent meat shields in a pinch. Not that we need them right now."
Helrath stood silently as Erik spoke, showing no outward reaction. And yet, as if on some unspoken cue, the purple magic circle above his head began to flicker and fade.
The spectral chains connecting the corpses to Helrath dissolved into the air, leaving behind a faint shimmer as the reanimated bodies crumbled into piles of fine, colorful sand. It was as if the very essence of their existence had been erased, leaving nothing behind but tattered clothing and the whisper of magic dissipating into the ether.
But just as Erik turned to move on, Geri darted away from his side, tail wagging excitedly as if he had detected something. The corgi buried his head into one of the dust piles, sniffing fervently, before pulling out a shiny object.
Erik raised an eyebrow as he approached, recognizing the item immediately—a darkened crystal, the size of a hand, gleaming with a sinister glow. It was a black soul gem, and from its faint pulse of energy, a filled one at that.
"Well, well," Erik muttered, kneeling beside the dust pile and taking the gem from Geri's jaws. He felt the familiar weight of the gem in his hand, the contained souls within writhing faintly against the confines of the crystal. His eyes narrowed.
Curiosity piqued, Erik checked the other piles of dust left by the bandits. To his surprise, he found another filled black soul gem buried in each one. He collected them, turning the gems over in his hands, their eerie glow casting fleeting shadows on the cave walls.
He glanced at Helrath, his mind drifting to the ancient magicks that he had used to create the skeleton. Out of all the energies of the Oblivion realms he had infused into Helrath's bones, it was Molag Bal's influence that resonated the most. Erik couldn't help but sigh, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
"You really take after Molag," Erik said, his voice laced with amusement. "Gobbling these poor sods down to their souls and leaving nothing behind..."
Helrath remained motionless, offering no response, but Erik didn't particularly care for one. The skeleton's silence was to be expected—he was a creature born of Molag's corruption, after all, and this sort of soul-harvesting came as naturally as breathing to a mortal.
Erik gestured dismissively toward the bandit leader's sword, still clutched in Helrath's bony hands. "Throw that piece of garbage away. I'll send you back to Snowhawk Fortress."
Without hesitation, Helrath began to move, lifting the sword to discard it as commanded. But just as he was about to toss it aside, the blade caught a flicker of light from the lingering flames in the cave, casting an unusual shine across its surface. Erik's eyes sharpened, instantly interjecting.
"Stop."
Helrath froze, the sword still in his grasp. Erik stepped forward, his curiosity piqued. "Let me take a look at that," he said, gesturing for Helrath to present the weapon.
Though silent, the skeletal warrior seemed momentarily puzzled at Erik's sudden change of heart but complied without question, holding the sword out for inspection.
Erik took it into his hand, feeling the weight of the weapon as he examined it closely. The blade's surface was dull and weathered from years of use, but now that the flames reflected off it, there was a telltale gleam that Erik recognized immediately. He ran his thumb along the edge, feeling the slight tingling of enchantment woven into the material.
"Silver," Erik muttered under his breath.
He could tell from the texture and sheen that this was no ordinary weapon. Silver, whether pure or plated, was rare enough in Skyrim, and weapons forged from it were usually reserved for hunting vampires, lycanthropes, or the undead. The material was too costly and too specialized for anything else.
No regular bandit would carry a weapon like this. If one did, their first instinct would be to sell it—after all, a silver weapon was virtually useless against common enemies, and the coin it could fetch far outweighed its combat value to a lowly bandit.
He had decided to leave after exterminating the bandits, deducing he'd find nothing of value or interest in their hideout, but it seems that he'll have to take a good look around before leaving.
...
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